Misfortune of a Malfoy
by davestridersjunk
Summary: The most innocent and precious thing is taken from your life. How do you react? When you're Draco Malfoy, you turn to alcohol and give up. Someone who's about to give up is thrown into your life. What do you do? When you're Hermione Granger, you don't let them.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter. The beautiful J.K Rowling owns all of the characters, spells, destinations and anything else wizard-y that you find in this story.

**So! Here is the new story that I am working on. I hope you guys enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it. **

**But this is not just _my_ story, it also belongs to _WriteAllAboutIt. _She handed me this wonderful idea and all credit goes to her for coming up with it. **

**Soundtrack: **All the way/4U - Poets of the fall.

**"****Oh my love, if it's all I can do, I'll take the fall 4 U**  
**Cos I will soar when I lay down with you and give my all 4 U"**

****Enjoy!

* * *

He hadn't worn this suit since he was sixteen, but it was fine, it still fit him.

His life had been what he would call perfect until a few days earlier. Three to be exact.

In fact, let's face it. Draco Malfoy's life had never been _perfect_, but with her in his life, it had come pretty damn close.

He had gone from this whiny little spoiled brat to a pranking boy, to a misunderstood teenager and then to young man.

His life had never been easy, although outsiders would highly disagree with that.

It wasn't a secret that he was loaded, but money was something he had no control over. He could, however, control what he did with it. Everyone just assumed he spent it on himself and he did, but they didn't know that some of his money also went to charities that desperately needed funding.

See, he wasn't a bad guy, although people still thought he was. Some people are just ignorant, though -under the impression that if you are a brat as a child, then you're _always_ a brat.

And for some, that was true.

But not for him.

He had anticipated being a snobby little brat for a few years longer, true, but when a consequence became known, he stood up to it, and faced it.

He hadn't ever expected it. Well, he did- but he expected it a few years down the line, not just _months_ after the war.

He didn't think sleeping with someone could ruin his life, and then make it perfect.

He was a kid, he was scared, and he would've done _anything_ for just a few moments of complete and utter bliss.

Sex and alcohol seemed like the obvious choice.

But it was also their silly choice not to use protection. He couldn't remember their reasoning for not using a potion.

It didn't matter though. If he'd used protection, he might not have gotten her.

She was the most beautiful, funny, happy-go-lucky, charismatic, innocent and precious thing to ever enter his life.

Not only was her personality admirable at the tender age of four, she had been absolutely _gorgeous_ too.

With her large, curious blue eyes, long blonde hair, chubby little cheeks and adorable button nose, she had captured his heart in a glance, and never given it back.

He didn't mind that though. He loved loving her.

Loving her made him a better man. When Daphne died giving birth to her at just seventeen years old, he thought his life was over.

He almost let her go into care, _almost_.

But in the end, he couldn't do it. She was _his_ little girl, and nobody else would take care of her. He had to. She was _his_ responsibility. He couldn't just make her and then bail- no. He was a father and he lived up to the job.

Parents weren't joking when they said that a baby was hard work.

Especially when you're a single parent.

And a teenage single parent.

But it was worth _every single second. _

He never regretted her, not for one moment of his time. He had shortly decided, after the birth, that she would be given to a real family who were perhaps reproductively challenged that would take care of her and give her the best.

But then the nurse asked him to hold her.

And boy was he hooked.

He wasn't completely alone –his parents adored and helped the little girl as much as she needed- and for that he was thankful. The years with her had been his best years.

With her in his life, he became brave, talented, loving, caring, responsible, sensible, smart, easy-going and warm. She completely changed him, for the better.

His heart swelled up every single time he looked at her cheeky little face. That missing front tooth drove him crazy, but she was too afraid to pull it out because of the pain, and that was alright.

It was alright to be scared sometimes.

He was scared right now.

She had been such a blessing, a miracle, and even though her mother had unfortunately died in the process of bringing her into this world, she was still a positive thing.

Yes, that was her. A positive little ball of energy that bounced off of every single wall, got her food everywhere no matter how many times he told her not to, demanded a bedtime story every night, pulled a temper tantrum when he gave her into trouble and slept in until eleven on Sundays, even though he asked her to be awake by ten.

But that's who she was, and she was perfect to him.

He was so proud of her. He wanted to show her off to the world and smile as people muttered how impressed they were at how smart and beautiful she was at such a young age.

She hadn't only captured his heart, though.

She had captured many hearts.

He should've called her cupid.

Blaise Zabini, his best friend, was completely smitten with her as well. She squeezed every bit of love and energy out of him, as she had done with Draco as well.

His parents adored her more than anything and saw her as often as possible, gushing about how big she had gotten, only over the course of two weeks.

Theodore Nott was in the same boat as Zabini- he loved her to bits and she knew it. She knew the power that she held, just with a smile, and a bat of her eyelashes, she could get whatever she wanted.

But she also deserved whatever she wanted, so they had no problem giving her it.

Teddies, board games, toys, dresses, furniture, you name it, she had it.

She was such an innocent little thing, so small, so impressionable, and so _pure_. She was almost a figment of his imagination.

Now, it was almost like she _had_ been.

His suit was completely soaked through now, his shirt so wet that you could see the skin beneath it. His hair fell across his forehead, absolutely drenched and darker in colour. If she'd seen his hair like that, she would've pushed it back, ruffling it up, and grinned at him, asking cheekily and hopefully if she could play with his hair.

He always said yes.

But that would never happen now. Nothing like that would ever happen again.

Nobody would call him 'daddy' again. Not in her voice at least.

It was incredible, the amount of impact that one life could have on so many people.

One of his friends –Theo or Blaise, he didn't know who- touched him on the arm, but he paid them no attention. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the ground, not when she was under there.

They say that when something so dreadful, such as this happens, your heart hurts, but that was an underestimation. His whole _body_ ached. Every single inch of it was in pain. It wasn't just his heart that was broken, it was his full figure.

He didn't even know how he was still standing. He didn't know what stopped him from just falling to the ground. He briefly wondered, inside his head, if he was even alive or perhaps in a nightmare. He just didn't know.

It took every ounce of his strength (or what was left of it) not to cry. He _should've_ been crying. He was _expected _to cry. But nobody knew how important their bond had been.

Every time he cried, she would climb onto his lap, wipe away his tears and tell him he was being silly and _not_ to cry.

It was such a small thing, but he still felt like she was here if he didn't cry. He would hold onto everything she left him with, and that was one of them.

"_Crying over that is silly, Daddy! You are my hero and if you cry then I might cry, so stop crying!" _

He hated seeing her cry. It broke his heart, but not nearly as much as this did.

He took in a shaky breath, swallowing as the last person left. He thought it was Blaise, but he didn't know. All he knew was that they patted him on the back and muttered something, tears streaming down their own face.

They were alone again now, as they were most nights.

He sat down next to her pearly white stone and ran his finger across the edge of it, as he done to her face when he pushed her hair away as she slept.

He traced the letters with his pointer finger and then lowered his head, taking in a sharp breath when his heart pained again.

He would never look at her again, hear her laugh, watch her smile.

It was all gone.

Only it didn't just leave, it had been _taken_ from him.

* * *

_3 days ago. _

That had been the first sign.

"Did you have fun at Theo's today?" He asked, brushing tangles out of her long hair. He begged her to get it cut, but she wanted to look like a princess, and so he let her. She always looked like a princess anyways- his little princess.

"Yes!" She shouted, jumping up into the air. He grabbed her shoulder to steady her and keep her still so that he wouldn't hurt her, but she was an energetic child and rarely listened.

"What did you get up to?" He asked, pulling some more hair from her forehead to the brush it.

"He bought me a new teddy," She said shyly, knowing how much he disliked when people bought her new things every single day. He eyed the large pile of teddies in the corner of her room- a massive one that took up the whole corner, surrounded by little ones of different shapes, animals, sizes and colours.

He took in a deep breath. "What's this one called?" He eyed the classic brown bear in her arms. She jumped up into bed after he put the brush down on her dresser.

"Clifford!" She said excitedly, pulling her covers up over body. He tucked her in and sat on the chair beside her bed.

"Story time tonight?" He asked knowingly after she gave a large yawn, covering her mouth with one hand.

"I don't think so daddy, I'm so sleepy," She said in a tired voice, snuggling up with her new bear. Draco chuckled and leaned over her, pushing her hair back to kiss her on the forehead.

"Alright then, perhaps tomorrow," He said once he got back up.

"Daddy," She said, her voice alarmed. He turned around immediately, his mind going briefly to the wand in his pocket. She was looking lower on his body, a confused frown on her face. "Your tattoo is moving,"

His heart stopped and he stared at the mark on his wrist. It had been years since anyone had heard from, or about him. He couldn't be.

He chuckled- he couldn't worry her. She was so innocent and didn't need to know about anything like this for another ten years.

"It does that sometimes sweetheart," He said, putting on a perfect smile. She suspected nothing –something that tugged at his heartstrings- and laughed as well.

"That's so silly daddy!" She laughed loudly. Oh god, how certain things could be absolutely hilarious to children.

He laughed too. "Goodnight precious," He said clearly before he switched off the light. "Love you,"

"I love you too daddy!" She shouted in reply as he closed the door.

He quickly showered after that, checking on her when he was finished to see her fast asleep already.

He would usually go to sleep straight after, but that night, he barely slept.

She wouldn't lie about seeing it move.

He _had_ to take into consideration that he could still be alive, for his daughter's sake. Potter was supposed to have killed him three years ago, but there were rumours that he had escaped before it happened. He'd ignored the rumours, but he was still classed as one of Voldemort's men and surely he would've been notified of his return.

He didn't agree with any of that anymore, but he had never met Voldemort again to tell him that he quit, so he had just ignored everything about the war, hoping that it would never catch up with him.

But what if now, it had?

* * *

_2 days ago. _

He was completely on edge all day.

If Voldemort _had_ returned then he would need to find some sort of way to contact him and tell him that he was quitting being a death eater and if he hadn't returned then Draco could happily get on with his life again without having to check every five minutes to see if his mark had started moving.

He was just about to check it again, actually, when he felt himself being sucked away from his office. He tried to stop the horrible feeling, but in a second, he had just disappeared from his chair. Someone who walked into his room would think he simply disapparated.

He was swirled into a dark, cold and dusty room. His insides flipped immediately when he realised it was Voldemort's lair and he looked around him, trying to pinpoint the faces of people who had already arrived. He swallowed thickly, some people were arriving just the way he had- swirling from a pile of dust with an eerie green glow.

"I do hope you haven't missed me," Voldemort grinned.

* * *

"Uh, excuse me," Draco said tentatively, walking awkwardly beside the dark lord as he made his way over to Nagini. He'd just sat through an hour of Voldemort revealing his plans and he needed to get home to his daughter.

"What is it, boy?" Voldemort asked distastefully, looking down at Draco.

He tried to look smart and completely respectable. "I… I'm going to have to quit being a death eater," He said immediately. Voldemort's red eyes flashed hideously.

"What?" He hissed.

Draco gulped. "It's just that… I have a daughter and she needs me. I can't be involved with all of this stuff anymore," He said almost worriedly. He tried to sound sorry, but the only thing he was thinking about was his daughter

Voldemort lowered his eyes. "You have a daughter, you say?" He asked, beginning to circle Draco. He nodded.

"Yes," He said simply. He knew better than to elaborate with Voldemort.

"And she needs you?" He asked slyly.

"Yes, she does, sir," Draco said politely. Once Voldemort was back in front of him, he smiled and raised his head.

"Then so be it, we can have that arranged," He said in a nasally voice. Draco's skin crawled and he desperately wanted to get home to his daughter.

"Thank you," He made sure to bow politely before leaving the way that he remembered.

* * *

_1 day ago_

He preferred not to remember that day.

* * *

She was gone.

He had taken her.

He should've known better. Voldemort didn't punish him directly, he would punish by hurting all of those that you loved.

There was only one person that he loved.

Of course he loved his parents, Blaise, Theo etc.

But he _loved_ her.

She had been his. He had created her. She was solely and completely his.

He was supposed to be her hero, her knight in shining armour, but he had _let her down._ He would never live with himself.

Never.

He didn't want to leave, but eventually it became so cold and wet outside that he could feel it in his bones. It was like even the weather had been affected by her loss. His arms ached and he could've passed out with the pain in his shoulder.

He got up, grunting at the searing pain all over his body. He didn't want to go home. He just wanted to stay here with her forever.

But unfortunately, that wasn't an option.

As his muscles and skin screamed at him more, he realised he had to leave, so he got up, pressed a kiss to her headstone and left the graveyard in the pouring rain.

He was so utterly terrified, and he would've done _anything_ for just a few moments of complete and utter bliss.

Sex and alcohol seemed like the obvious choice.

Again.

* * *

"Can I help you?" A small woman asked. Her black hair was tied back into a tight bun at the back of her head and she had a full face of make up on. The bar was full of people and it was loud.

He swallowed. It would be the first time he spoke today.

"Firewhiskey," He murmured quietly. The woman eyed him up and down before she went and got a glass, filling it up with a red liquid.

He downed it in two seconds, slamming the stiff glass back on the wooden bar top. The bartender raised an eyebrow at him and poured him another one. He downed that too.

"Sheesh, you look like you've hadda rough day," She commented, filling up his glass with some more firewhiskey.

He didn't answer her and instead swallowed the fluid again, ignoring how it burned on the way down his throat.

"Oh, I get it, you're not a talker," She said snootily. She put the whole bottle of firewhiskey beside him and muttered 'knock yourself out' before she walked away to serve someone else.

Oh how he wished he could.

Instead of filling the glass up a little, he filled it up until it was three quarters of the way full. Then, he finished it in three gulps and poured one of equal amount.

He could feel himself becoming lighter, dizzier. A banging sore headache was starting to come on him too, but he was already so tipsy he couldn't remember the spell that stopped it.

He slammed his head down on his hands. Hopefully if he drank enough, he could just end up dying.

Could you overdose on alcohol?

Let's find out.

He finished the whole bottle in half an hour, his throat red and raw at how much he'd drank and so quickly, too. His eyes closed over half way and he doubted he could even stand up from his seat never mind walk home. He would just have to collapse on the streets somewhere and then wake up. Or maybe he'd go back and die by her graveside.

"That was fast," The barmaid commented, coming back over to him. She grabbed another bottle and started to open it.

He was more than happy to take it from her, but someone stepped in.

"You're seriously going to give him another drink? Look at him!" A middle-aged man said, frowning at her as if she hadn't handed in her homework. The girl stopped and stared at Draco, her heavily lined eyes turning fearful.

"Come on, pal, let's get you home," The middle-aged man said quietly, lifting Draco up by his armpits. Draco's eyes closed over twice before he murmured incoherently to the man.

"Don't touch me," He breathed.

The man didn't listen and instead dragged him from the seat. His wet, cold shirt rode up to his chin and shocked him back into reality.

"DON'T TOUCH ME!" Draco roared, struggling out of the man's grip. Everyone turned around at the noise and the bar grew quiet, watching as Draco tried to steady himself against the bar. He didn't look drunk or tired anymore; in fact, he looked and felt more awake than he ever had been.

The man held his hands up in front of his chest, palms outward. "Whoa mate, just calm down, I was only trying to help,"

"Well fucking don't," Draco spat. "You don't know what everyone is going through. Maybe I don't want help!"

"If you don't want help then that's fine," The man said, taking a step backwards. "Jeez, you'd think I was trying to murder you,"

Somewhere in the bar, a pin dropped.

Something inside Draco snapped.

"FUCK YOU!" He shouted, before he swung at the man, feeling a crack beneath his knuckles. He fell back; his arms outspread as he tried to brace himself on a chair or a table- anything.

"Hey, hey, hey!" A younger man, around Draco's age came between them. He was wearing a grey t-shirt and had a large tribal tattoo over his bicep. "There's no need for that kind of violence here," He said.

"Oh, fuck you as well," Draco spat again, his teeth bore. "Fuck everyone in here, JUST. FUCK. EVERYBODY," He screamed angrily. The barmaid came out from behind the bar and hustled towards them. She grabbed Draco's arm and opened the door quickly.

"I'm going to have to ask you to leave," She said sternly –so different from her earlier attitude- and pushed him outside.

"I didn't fucking want to stay here anyway, you whore," He said before he tripped, stumbling down the stairs. His head slammed on the concrete ground and he groaned as the door was closed behind him. He heard someone lock it and briefly wondered how someone would get in or out, but then focused on the pain that was coming from his scalp. He raised his head and put a hand underneath, feeling wetness and warmth there. On his fingers, when he put them in front of his face, was a smooth red fluid. He closed his eyes over. Blood.

He was such an idiot. It was like someone had given him light in his life and then suddenly took it back. His life was dark again, and so was he.

He didn't know how long he had walked for; he only knew that it was some time at night, or maybe in the morning. It was dark and the moon was his only source of light, unless you took the streetlights into consideration.

Eventually, he found a step with a railing next to it and sat down. He didn't know where he was or what could happen to him. At that moment, he didn't know anything.

It was like his brain and mind had shut down and his body had no other choice but to follow as his head lolled to the side to rest on the railing, his eyes closing over after him.

He didn't know if he'd just fallen asleep really fast, or passed out.

* * *

There was brightness behind his eyelids and he didn't know if he wanted to see what was happening outside them.

Eventually, he had to.

He opened one eye and shut it rapidly. God, it burned to look into brightness. He also had a pounding headache that needed tending to.

He kept his eyes closed for a while longer, opening one ever two minutes to see if his eyes had gotten used to the light yet. He didn't plan on opening them for another while when he heard footsteps. Not just any footsteps, though -the sharp and hurried click of a pair of heels on concrete. So it was a woman. And she was getting closer.

He opened both of his eyes to see who it was when the clicking stopped. Just as his vision blurred into focus, he realised he was staring at a woman who was bend over at the waist, gazing down at him.

Her hair was light brown and her eyes were dark brown- a warm combination. She was slim, and she was frowning.

He had just realised who it was when-

"Malfoy?!"

* * *

I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Much thanks to **WriteAllAboutIt **for giving me this idea and letting me write it. I'll try hard to make this story reach your expectations and most of all, I hope you enjoy it!

-FallenForTheDraco


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter.

* * *

Thank you to: QueenDivaSmile, DracoMalfoysSweetGirl92, XDramioneLoverx, rae8807, fediva, Tay Lupin, SlytherinGurrl, maryjanedoe8463, GirForPrez, Raeshall and WriteAllAboutIt for your lovely reviews! I'm so glad the feedback has been positive.

**QueenDivaSmile: **This story will be darker and Voldemort will be present but it will have a happy ending. I'm the same- I don't do stories that don't have happy endings. Obviously, because of the circumstances, Draco will be a lot more angsty-emotional and he will struggle with things so it will be sad, but the only death will be Draco's daughter. If I decide another death is in order then I'll let you know, but this will be a story where light is found even in the darkest of times :) I hope you decide that you are able to read it! Thanks for your review!

**Soundtrack: **By your side - Tenth Avenue North

_"'Cause I'll be by your side,_

_Wherever you fall in the dead of night, _

_Whenever you call and please don't fight,_

_These hands that are holdin' you. _

_My hands are holdin' you," _

Enjoy!

* * *

"Malfoy?!" Hermione asked, a disbelieving look on her face. She took in his dreadful state before she hurriedly stepped onto the step behind him and unlocked something. She threw her bag inside and tried to haul him up by his right arm.

"Ow! Don't manhandle me!" He said immediately, grabbing his arm back. He frowned up at her.

"Well then don't fall asleep on my doorstep!" She retorted heatedly. Goodness, she was only trying to help.

"I didn't fall asleep," He grumbled to himself, before he reached out a pale arm and tried to haul himself up using the railing. Hermione watched as he squeezed his eyes shut and tried to focus.

After a few failed attempts, "Are you _drunk_?" She asked him.

"For goodness sakes, will you stop your fucking whining?" He barked, sighing when he turned back around. Hermione learned against the doorframe of her shop, almost smirking as she watched him fail over and over again.

"Need some help?" She asked in a high, sweet voice. He flared at her from over his shoulder.

He finally sighed in defeat, making her adopt a surprised look. She thought he'd have hexed her and left by now, but he was still here _and_ about to accept her help. She made a mental note to ask him why he was even here in the first place. She hadn't seen him in years.

"Fine," He bit out. "Just, help me stand up and then I'll be fine," He said, looking away as he held his right arm out for her to hold. He was extremely muscular, despite his lean figure, and so it took a few tries before she actually got him up. He swayed for a moment and squinted at how bright it was again before massaging his forehead.

"Will you get home okay?" She asked a little hesitantly. She didn't want him thinking that she was being _nice_. No, not after all the crap he gave her at Hogwarts. But she didn't want anything bad to happen to him.

"I'll be fine," He said, swallowing nervously as all of the memories of yesterday came flooding back to his mind. He looked away from her –she couldn't see his face- and bit his lip.

"Are you sure? You look… hungover. Do you want a glass of water?" She asked, suddenly becoming worried that perhaps there was something was with him.

His throat felt like it was still on fire from last night. In fact, his whole mouth was in pain. Water _did_ sound good, but it was being offered by one of his old enemies. He wouldn't put it past her to poison him. But…. His throat…

"Yes please," He said politely, following her inside. She turned on the lights and he looked up at the massive ceiling that supported a fancy chandelier. There were ceiling-height bookcases filled with books and green, cushiony chairs with side-tables. The floor was mahogany brown laminate and after the bookshelves, there was a pair of stairs leading up to… well… he didn't know. Was this her house? Seriously- she literally lived in a library.

She went over to a behind a small bar, grabbed a clear glass and filled it up with bottled water. He took a seat on one of the plush green chairs and continued to look around as she dragged a table over to him, setting the water on it. He took it and drank it, glad that it was cool, as if it had been refrigerated. She sat on the edge of a long dark coffee table and stared intently at him. He frowned at her over the tip of his glass. The hell was she staring at?

"What?" He snapped. She blinked, her face become offended and shocked.

"You just… look different, I haven't seen you in years, y'know," She reminded, taking the glass off of him and filling it up again.

"I know," He said, a little more softly. He gladly took the next glass of water, finishing it just as quick. "Is this your house?" He asked curiously.

Hermione opened her mouth and laughed. "No," She shook her head. "It's my bookshop,"

He nodded once, looking around him. It actually looked extremely organised, cosy and professional. "Then why are there chairs?" He asked confusedly after a few seconds.

"Because downstairs is also a library," She smiled. Draco almost 'aaah'd' – it was pretty clever.

He was quiet for a moment, remembering everything that had happened again. He was impressed- for two whole minutes, she had taken his mind off of everything bad that had just occurred in his life. But now it was all back.

She noticed his sad stare. "Is everything alright with you, Malfoy?" She asked wearily. His eyes flicked up to hers and he nodded, not bothering to give her a witty remark or angry snap.

She was sceptical. "Are you sure?"

Here comes the angry snap. "Yes I'm fucking sure, now stop asking," He said angrily, his nose upturned and teeth bore. She raised her eyebrows as if she wasn't surprised he had finally shouted at her.

"I was only asking. Do you need any help getting home?" She asked. Home? Where was that? He had no home without her. His throat closed up as tears almost came to his eyes, but he blinked through them, swallowing even though it hurt his throat.

"No," He said. He put the glass on the table and stood up, not swaying anymore –thank god- and moved over to the door. He cleared his throat. He just wanted to get home so he could die in his own loneliness and pain.

Hermione got up as well, moving to open the door for him. He almost sneered at her- he was no fucking woman, he didn't need doors being opened for him.

"Well, goodbye then," She said, holding the door open with her hip. She folded her arms over her chest.

He should thank her for being nice to him despite their differences, but for some reason, he didn't. "Bye Granger," He said, before he stepped outside.

Now he was alone again, in the middle of the street. He realised where he was now –somewhere in London- and he could get home fine, but he didn't want to go home. Home was where everything bad had happened. He would move house. He would run away, like he always did.

Most of all, he would find a way to kill Voldemort.

Why wasn't it him that was killed? Why didn't Voldemort just kill him? He knew why. Because even death was better than what he was feeling at the moment.

He would do anything to get her back –kill Voldemort, buy her the dog she had always wanted, let her go to school before Hogwarts like she wanted to- he would literally do anything. He couldn't believe she was even gone in the first place. So quickly and suddenly- it was like it had barely even happened. He expected to go home and find her sleeping in her bed until eleven, but he knew she wasn't there. But how couldn't she be there? How could she just be gone so suddenly?

He took a seat back on the step, his breathing becoming rapid. Someone had taken his little girl from him. Even if Voldemort had killed him, everything would still be better. She could live without her daddy, she was still young and had potential. She would remember him as her hero and live with his parents –they would take care of her, like nothing changed- except, that wasn't how it happened at all.

He couldn't live without her. He wanted revenge, badly. He wanted Voldemort's blood –if he even had any blood- on his pale hands. He wanted him to beg for mercy, cry, scream and shout and feel the fear that his little girl had probably felt. But he wouldn't kill him. No- he would make death look like a gift.

He swallowed. But the only person that could kill him was Potter. There was some stupid bond between them that meant he was the only one who could do it and he'd be damned if he went to Potter for help. True, their differences had been set aside during the war and their feelings for each other had remained in an uncharted territory, but he wouldn't go begging for help.

But… if he hinted that Voldemort had returned, perhaps Potter would take it into his own hands and kill him. But that wasn't enough justice; it had to be _him_ that killed him. Maybe he could letter Potter kill him or do whatever voodoo they had to do and _then_ he could torture him before he died. Yes, it would be something like that.

He didn't have a full, solid plan yet, but he knew his first step: talking to Potter. He wouldn't tell his reasoning though. He hated that pitiful look.

He wanted to cry so badly. It was so hard to stay strong for her. He wasn't sure if he could do it anymore.

Forcing himself into a situation where he would be able to control his emotions –hopefully- he opened the door to Granger's bookshop… library… thing and went over to the desk where she was sitting reading. It took her a few moments to notice him.

"Oh!" She exclaimed, taking off her glasses and putting her book down. She straightened down her shirt and tried to look presentable. "Can I help you?"

"Yes, in fact, you can," He said clearly. "I need Potter's address,"

Hermione stuttered for a moment. "Malfoy," She laughed his name lightly. "We're not children anymore, you can't just go around pranking him," She shook her head.

He rolled his eyes and leaned on her desk with both of hands, coming dangerously close to her face. He started growling. "I need his address. Not to play games, not to do pranks or even to start an argument. I need his address because I need his help with something, not that it's any of your business," He seethed. Hermione pulled away and swallowed. He looked deadly serious, and almost angry.

She nodded once. Malfoy wouldn't ask for his address without _desperately_ needing it, right? "I'll give it to you, but if I hear you've done anything silly-"

"I won't fight back when you hex my arse," He agreed, nodding. Glad they were clear; she tore a piece from a nearby notebook and wrote down Harry's address for him.

He looked at two addresses- what; Potter was so rich now that he could afford two homes?

"If you can't find him in his apartment, his work address is underneath, he's office 2A. And please," She added, when he went to move. She looked at him seriously. "Don't get angry with Ginny if she tells you Harry isn't home or refuses to tell you anything. She's pregnant, and if you so happen to upset her-" Hermione began.

"I won't," He rolled his eyes, the word 'pregnant' sparking something inside of him. "Trust me, Jesus; I won't hurt a child," He said, but his voice cracked. Hermione detected it, but said nothing. She nodded.

"Good," She said, and he left.

He memorised both addresses when he got outside, in case anything happened to the paper it was written on. With the number and name imprinted in his head, he head off to Potter's.

He couldn't believe he was actually stooping this low, but this was all for his little girl, and he'd do anything for her.

Maybe if he turned himself into a better man, maybe then someone would give her back to him. He knew that was impossible, she was well and truly gone. There was no way of bringing her back, but he wished there was. He'd do anything. Give up anything. He'd do whatever it took.

Hearing that Potter would soon have a child like he did made his veins ache with jealousy. He would have everything and be a good father, yet Draco had nothing when he was thrown into parenthood. And everyone would see him as the _better_ father, the _hero._ He was anything but a hero.

Soon, Potter would have his own son or daughter in his arms. It wasn't fair- that everyone could continue on with their lives and he had to have his life taken away from him.

Not only was it unfair on him, it was unfair on _her_. She was just a little girl, she shouldn't have known violence at such a young age and she _certainly_ should not have been murdered. It was… you just didn't surround violence with children. They were two things that didn't go. Like purple and red, she taught him.

"_I can't wear a red t-shirt with purple bottoms, daddy! I'll look so silly!" _

"_Why not?" _

"_Because they don't match together!" _

Even though two weeks later, she'd worn a purple dress with red tights.

He took his head, laughing at the memory. She was so bloody adorable. The laughter went away quickly and he gulped, trying to push the pain to the back of his mind. He _had_ to avoid it. For her. Maybe one day, in the future, he would finally accept the full force of the pain and cry his eyes out, but for now, he was still her hero and he _couldn't_ cry. He couldn't let her see, if she was watching over him, that he was broken now.

He had to be strong.

Potter's house turned out to be not that far from his own. In fact, if he'd been walking home, he merely would've walked by it. He looked up at the windows and then went inside the front door. He had to climb three sets of stairs before he finally came to a dark green door with gold, metal numbers that declared his house number 23.

He cleared his throat and knocked twice.

The she-Weasel answered, staring for a moment before her eyes narrowed fiercely. "What do you want?" She asked before she could even think.

He swallowed. "Uh, I need to speak to Potter," He asked politely. It was constantly in the back of his mind that she was pregnant and he didn't know why, but she became a little bit of a priority for him.

He knew that pregnant woman –although impressively strong- could be fragile and he always had some sort of escape plan in the back of his head when entering a new building, just in case something bad happened. If something bad happened, she would be the first to leave and be safe.

Despite him being jealous of the two having a child, he wouldn't wish this kind of pain on his worst enemy, who happened to, conveniently, be Potter.

"Why?" She closed the door over and lowered her voice so that someone in the room couldn't hear. Potter, he assumed.

"It's urgent," He tried to be nice. "I don't want to tell you and worry you; I know that you're…" He hesitated to say the word. "Pregnant," He finished, pressing his lips together tightly.

Ginny put her hand over her relatively flat stomach protectively. "What do you want, Malfoy? I'm not messing around," She said through her teeth.

Draco nodded. "I know and Potter will probably tell you after I speak to him but I _need_ to speak to him," He replied desperately.

"Who's at the door, Gin?" Harry's voice came through the door and Ginny had no choice but to open it further, revealing Draco.

His eyes lowered as well. "What do you want?" He quoted Ginny. Draco tried not to be insulted when he moved to put Ginny behind him. If that was the way he acted- he'd be a good father.

"I need to talk to you," Draco said, frowning. Harry swallowed, and looked behind him at Ginny who had moved to the kitchen –probably to make breakfast. He sighed impatiently through his nose but nodded nonetheless, walking towards Draco so that he could close the door behind him. They spoke in the landing outside his apartment.

Draco didn't know how to break the news.

"V-Voldemort's back," He blurted.

Harry's eyes went wide and his mouth turned determined and angry. "Where? How do you know this?"

"I don't know where he and I-I just know," He finished. For a moment, he was about to reveal everything about what had happened, but something stopped him. He didn't know what, and he didn't know why. He was surprised he was even able to form a sentence- he had avoided all thoughts about the last three days, but the pain was still there.

Harry frowned. "If this is some kind of joke-"

"It isn't," Draco said impatiently, closing his eyes over before opening them in one long blink. "I know because…"

Harry stared at him.

"Because…" Draco tried again.

"Because he called me the other day," He eventually got out. He swallowed. When Harry put his hand on his wand in his back pocket, Draco lifted up his hands to his chest in defence, palms outward.

"I quit being a death eater, its fine," He warned.

Harry blinked in shock. "It's not fine!"

Draco shook his head. "No, I know it's not fine," He blinked a couple times. "What I mean is that I'm not here to start any trouble. I'm not on _his_ side,"

Harry looked a little bewildered. "So you're on our side then?"

Draco nodded and then shook his head again. "No, I don't know. I don't want to be on a side, but there's nobody else I could've told, is there?" He asked angrily.

"Don't get snappy with me, Malfoy. You need to tell me everything- where is he, what happened, how did he call you, did he mention anything about what he would be doing in the future?" He asked all at once. Draco thought.

"I was at work and I disapparated- but not on my own. He controlled it. I arrived in his old lair with all of the other death eaters and he babbled on for an hour about how he was back and planned on _not_ dying this time. I think he has a new motive or something. Shortly afterwards I went to him and told him I had to quit and he…" Draco choked, the air being completely knocked out of his trachea.

"He what?" Harry asked confusedly.

"He let me," Draco finished, trying to look convincing. Harry didn't push anything, but knew there was more to the story immediately.

"Right," Harry said. "Why is it that he contacted you and not me? Does he not want me to know that he's back?"

Draco shrugged. "I don't know,"

Harry sighed. "I'll mention it to the order, but you'll have to come with me,"

"What?" Draco asked angrily. He didn't want anything to do with this.

"I don't like it either," Harry shook his head in agreement. "But we'll have to perform Legilimens and a series of other spells to make sure this isn't a joke, or worse, a trap,"

Draco shook his head immediately. "Not Legilimens," He refused. Harry raised his eyebrows.

"If your story is correct, then you have nothing to hide," Harry said, reaching inside his house. He plucked a coat from the rack just at his door and shoved his arms through the sleeves. Draco watched as he hurriedly placed a kiss on Ginny's cheek before leaving.

"We're going right now?" Draco asked, puzzled.

Harry looked at him as if he had sprouted another head. "Of course we are. This is serious, Malfoy, innocent people could die again,"

His nostrils flared. He knew that. By God, he fucking knew that.

"Trust me, I know," He snapped, before he swung around Harry and walked down the stairs on his own to the front door. Harry shook his head at his sudden mood change and followed after him.

They walked in silence, both deep in their own thoughts.

Voldemort had chosen the _wrong_ time to come back. He should've come back in a few years, when his daughter –and Potter's child- would be safe in Hogwarts. This was no mess for _anyone_ to get involved in, never mind a baby.

He wondered, briefly, what would happen to the she-Weasel. If she thought she was participating in this war, she had another thing coming, and Draco didn't even have anything to do with her, but he would gladly tie her to a chair so that she and her unborn child couldn't get hurt.

His heart lowered as he thought about her.

He didn't want anyone to know, but soon, Potter would. Unless he could build walls around that part of his life, but he hadn't done those kinds of things to his mind since he was seventeen and doubted he was still as skilled in Occlumency. He would try anyways. Potter couldn't know.

They came to a large building and Harry stood in front of it for a moment. After a few seconds, the blocks began to move and then they walked up to the front door, wiping their feet on the doormat before they entered. To Draco's right was some sort of living room, and a long hall was in front of him that had stairs on the left. There was a door half way down the hall that Potter went into to greet someone.

"Contact Ron and Hermione, they need to be here for this," He said. He walked out about an inch and swung his arm in a gesture towards the room.

"Go in and sit down, hand me your wand," Harry said strictly. Draco didn't even bother to argue and slid his wand out of his back pocket, handing it over. He went inside and took a seat beside Remus, who was reading the Daily Prophet.

Draco was confused. He expected someone to start shouting at him or call him names. He certainly didn't expect that he would just continue to read his paper. He sat awkwardly beside Remus, who sat at the head of the long table. There were a few cupboards and a small sink, as if it was only there for snacks. He imagined there would be a larger kitchen somewhere else.

"I bet you're wondering why I don't have you pinned up against that door right now," Remus said, folding over his paper. He took his glasses off and clasped his hands together on the table.

"…A bit," Draco admitted.

Remus sat back in his seat. "Well, I trust Harry's judgement. If he's brought you here, he must have a bloody good reason,"

At that moment, Harry came back. "Have you got a hold of Hermione and Ron yet?" He asked, taking a seat at the table. He handed Draco a drink and left one on the table for Remus too.

Remus got up. "Nope, I was keeping an eye on him. I'll go do it now though," He walked out the door. Harry sat across from Draco with a weird expression.

"Prepared yourself for Legilimens then?" He asked quietly. Draco took a deep breath and nodded.

"Just do it," He said. He knew that his thoughts and memories about his daughter were safe behind solid walls and barriers.

"Alright, well, have a drink first," Harry said casually, pushing the glass towards him. Draco took a small sip, taking a larger gulp afterwards when the liquid soothed his still aching throat and then licked his lips. He didn't think any different.

Harry held his wand up to Draco. "Legilimens," He said, delving into Draco's mind.

He swarmed through his recent memories, but there was absolutely nothing for the past day or two. After he'd watched and listened to the memory of Voldemort well and truly returning, he focused on the blanks, realising that Draco had his guard up.

He tried breaking them down discreetly. He knew Draco was extremely talented in Occlumency and didn't want to give anything anyway, so he swam through miscellaneous memories here and there, merely checking that he hadn't missed anything.

After successfully cracking his guards, he sensed Draco growing tensed and nervous. He was hiding something on purpose, and Harry knew it. Draco could be working for Voldemort and had been sent here just to trick them or perhaps to injure them. He couldn't risk anything, so in one swift movement, he broke down the wall and took in as many memories as he could that flooded towards him. There was one of a small girl with silvery blonde hair that continuously popped up, but he found nothing out about her, only that she was almost always around. Then there was a small memory of drinking, but Harry assumed he'd gotten so drunk that some of the memories were genuinely missing. This was all he got before he was forced out.

"Don't," Draco spluttered.

"Who's that girl?" Harry asked strictly. Draco looked away and sighed. He didn't know how he was even able to reply.

"She's- was… my daughter,"

"Was?"

Draco replied angrily. "Yes, was, now she's fucking dead, alright? Voldemort killed her," He said in a rush. Harry's eyes grew a little wider and he looked away awkwardly.

"I'm sorry," He said. Draco's eyes grew softer and he looked down at the drink he'd just sipped, growing angry again. He bore his teeth at Harry.

"You used a truth potion on me?" He guessed. Harry nodded.

"You knew I would," He replied simply. "How could I not? You-"

"Harry, is everything alright?" Hermione asked, stumbling in. She looked at Draco and then back at Harry. "Why is he here?" She asked with a small frown.

Harry looked at Draco before he replied; picking up on Draco's panicked expression, warning him not to tell.

"I've got some bad news, you should sit," Harry said, pointing at the seat Remus had just vacated.

Hermione sat, completely on edge. She even perched on the edge of the chair in case she had to get up and run away somewhere.

"What is it?" She asked slowly, looking at Harry only.

Harry swallowed. "Voldemort's back,"

Hermione's nostrils flared and her eyes hardened, turning a darker shade of brown. "How do you know?" She asked carefully. Harry glanced at Draco, making Hermione look at him too.

"He contacted his followers a few days ago," Harry said simply. Hermione gulped, looking at Draco.

"And him?" She asked, wanting the verdict.

"He came to me this morning and told me everything- he quit," Harry answered, sensing Hermione's next accusation. Hermione still scrutinized him, her attitude much different than earlier.

"But how do we-"

"Legilimens," Harry answered. Draco looked back and forth, struggling to keep up with the conversation because of all the short questions and curt answers.

"And I have his wand," Harry added, holding up the wand for emphasis. Hermione seemed to calm down and sat properly on the seat, throwing her bag on the table in front of her.

"So what do we do?" She asked quietly.

Harry swallowed and then shrugged. "We fight,"

* * *

This chapter isn't very focused on Draco grieving because I need there to be _some_ interaction between him and the order. I'll always mention that Draco is thinking about his daughter, but I will focus solely on Draco's grief in the upcoming chapters. I just needed a kind of beginning point where he'd start to become involved with Harry and Hermione's lives. I hope you don't mind!

And I hope you enjoyed.

As always, all credit goes to **WriteAllAboutIt **- this was her idea and wouldn't even be happening if not for her :)

-FallenForTheDraco


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:**I don't own Harry Potter.

* * *

When I write authors notes, I'm pretty much always happy and positive and cheery (you've probably realised that by now, haha,) but this time I'm going to point something out. I will, however, try my best to stay happy during this, but it's hard. A few people will probably relate and understand why.

I think we can agree that every writer is different, and has their own style. Their own _unique_ style. And I think that if someone flames your story, then they're ignorant. You may not have the best grammar, the best punctuation, the best descriptions, but writing is _art_. What would happen if Monet and Picasso happened to paint the exact same thing? It would be boring, because they would be the same.

What I'm trying to say is that even if you misspell words, muck up a sentence or use some grammatically incorrect phrases, you are still a fantastic writer. I don't think that writing should be limited to just _words_. I think that people need to push the limit, _purposely_ do things different, to liven things up and show the world that they're _not_ the same.

I decided to say this because more than one person has messaged me before, saying that they don't have enough confidence to write, and I'm the same in some ways. The feeling that I get after I post a chapter is worry. I worry because I don't know what you guys will think of it and I think most of you, who do write on this site, probably agree. Well, hopefully agree… if nobody agrees I probably sound like such an idiot right now.

But this is something I need to get out of my system. If someone tells you that you are not a good writer, ignore them. I don't think there is such thing as a _"bad writer" – _I think all pieces of writing are completely unique and personal, and if you don't like something that someone writes, you should say to yourself "this wasn't for me," and move on.

What do you get from flaming someone? Nothing and you're hurting someone's feelings when you purposely put down their story but don't give them constructive criticism.

So I guess my point is this: write. If you want to write, then write. Don't be afraid. There will be at least one person in the world that shares your style, or at least understands it.

Am I the only person who has this opinion? I feel like I might be. Like I mentioned up there, I hope someone does agree, otherwise I'll sound extremely silly, but come on.

If you write, then you know how much words can mean to someone. Words can make or break someone, and you have no idea what the person behind the computer screen is going through. Even if you're trying to be constructive, don't be mean. Don't discourage folk from writing. For all you know, your words could be the ones that finally send them over the edge.

It's _not_ okay that people bully people through the internet, but it's even _worse_ when they do it anonymously and if they're a writer their self. You'd think a writer would know better- know the power that simple words can hold, but some people don't seem to grasp that. I don't know, and I never have known, what goes through a humans mind when they bully someone, and no less, over a computer screen.

If one more person messages me and tells me that they have been discouraged from writing because of a review, I'll personally ask you who it was that sent it. If it was an anonymous review, I'll send you lovely words and try and piece your confidence back together. If the person has a username, I'll message them myself and ask them what their problem is and why they couldn't word their thoughts nicer, or better: not at all.

I know this sounds silly, but I really love all of the people that message me and review to me. You don't know how much you make my day. Just reading one review can make me feel so much better. So if you're being bullied online, or worse, by someone on this site, I _will_ become protective of you. I've never had a little brother or sister; in fact, I don't have any siblings, at all, so sometimes I look at people on the internet (that I know) as a kind of "cybersibling."

I don't really know what else to say. I guess this author's note differs between a rant about bullying online and about writers that bully other writers. I just don't understand it.

I hope that, if you are in this situation, then these words make you feel better, and if you are a bully on here and you happen to read this, then I hope it makes you rethink the way you word things. Words hurt- that's all this comes down to. When I was younger, I had no _idea_ how powerful words were. Just one word can change your whole mood, your whole attitude, your beliefs, and it's scary.

And that's something good about words- that they can change people. But people take advantage of words (like some people on this earth do with most things) and turn them into something bad, which is awful, because writing is art, and art should be beautiful.

My cheery attitude will probably be back in a few minutes, and if you read all of that then you deserve a medal. I hope you're all having a good day and remember that as long as you believe in yourself, then no one else's opinion matters. : )

I love you all. Sorry this was long.

**Soundtrack: **Papa Roach - Last Resort.

Thank you to everyone who reviewed, followed this story, and favourited it already. You're all so wonderful. Hugs.

* * *

"We fight?" Hermione echoed in a shocked tone.

Harry nodded after a few moments of deep thought. "Yes. Of course- we're going to fight,"

Hermione shook her head. "What about Ginny? What a- what about-" She lowered her voice. "Teddy?"

"Ginny and Teddy will be sent to a safe house. I'll try and convince Lupin and Tonks to go with him, but I doubt they'll leave," Harry said in an unfortunate tone.

Hermione sighed, looking back over at Draco. "So…" She said quietly, as if he wasn't even in the room. "What is he doing here?"

"For fucks sake, Granger, I'm sitting right here," Draco shouted angrily, rolling his eyes. Hermione looked a little miffed, but sat back in her chair, directing the question to him instead.

"Fine, Malfoy," She bit out. "What are you doing here?"

Why did he have to listen to this? "I don't fucking know," He looked at Harry. "Ask him," He gestured with a nod.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Bloody hell, Malfoy, I was asking him but then you started moaning," She spat at him. She turned to Harry after there was a moment of silence. "So, Harry, what is he doing here?"

"He has information," Harry said quietly and obviously.

Hermione sighed, pressing her lips tightly together. "But does it have to be him?" She asked, frowning.

"Well yes," He said rather impatiently. "Hermione, he's the only one who's even seen Voldemort, he's all we have to go on,"

"What if Voldemort knows that he's here though? What if he has some sort of trace on him and knows that he's told you everything?" Hermione asked worriedly.

Harry looked around awkwardly. "We'll put him under the orders protection,"

This grabbed both Draco and Hermione's protection.

"What!?" Hermione exclaimed, at the same time Draco muttered,

"Whoawhoawhoa, I don't want anything to do with this," He shook his head.

"Tough, you're already involved," Harry said curtly. Draco blinked, growing angry again.

"No, I'm fucking not involved," He disagreed. "I have my own shit to deal with, Potter,"

"Malfoy," Harry said patronisingly. "You either go home and risk your life or you stay here with us, take your pick,"

"I'll go home and risk my life," Draco chose immediately.

Hermione huffed. "Oh, don't be such an idiot," She scalded. "And how can we even be sure you have a home to go back to? Hm? Have you forgot-"

Draco's gaze stopped her from talking. His cold grey eyes silently mentioned that if she said one more word, he was out of here and Harry would be on his own. She swallowed.

"Have you forgotten that we can trace your wand?" She asked, changing her question. He looked grateful, but still angry.

"I can go and stay with my parents, but I'm not staying here," Draco growled to Harry.

"What the bloody hell is he doing here?" Ron exclaimed. Hermione stood up to let him sit and lingered between him and Draco, almost like a shield.

Harry gestured to the seat Hermione had just got up from. Ron sat down, leaning on the table heavily, as if he was just waiting for a reason to hex Draco. Draco looked to be in a daze most of the time.

"V-"

"Maybe we shouldn't say his name," Hermione interrupted, always being the quickest thinker. "His name could be taboo again,"

Harry nodded once. "You-know-who is back," He said to Ron simply. Draco was amused to find that he basically had the same reaction as Granger.

"How can you be sure?" He asked with hardened eyes. Harry glanced at Draco.

"He called the death eaters. Malfoy turned himself in,"

"I never turned myself in," Draco disagreed. "I just came to tell you what he did," No way was he looking like a goody-two-shoes.

Harry shrugged one shoulder. "That, then,"

For the next hour, Draco sat, disagreeing he felt like he should, listening to Potter rant and rave and moan to his two minions. He didn't want to be here, and his craving for that sweet numbing bliss that alcohol provided was becoming stronger.

It had become so strong in the last hour that he'd actually started fidgeting. That nervous tapping of his own foot was driving him mad and he wished someone would amputate it just so that he could stop listening to the _click, click, click _that his shoes offered.

After it had gotten worse, to the point where he was actually biting his nails (I mean, come on, what Malfoy bit his nails?) he finally pressed his hands to the table and stood up.

"I'm leaving," He simply said, moving past Granger to get to the door. Harry shot up out of his seat.

"Without your wand?" He asked slyly. Draco stopped, wondering how he'd forgotten Potter had his wand. He turned around and held his arm out, palm up.

"Nuh-huh," Harry shook his head, folding his arms across his chest. "You aren't getting it back unless you let the Order watch over you. Who knows if you'll go back to You-know-who and tell him everything we've just said," His green eyes darkened a shade and his eyebrows furrowed.

He didn't fucking have time for this. He needed a drink. As the clouds floated away, more memories of his were realised and one thing he didn't want to do was remember. He thought about her more and more, so much that it consumed his thoughts, and he desperately wanted to forget all of his thoughts.

"Fine, fucking keep it," He retorted, walking away from them as if he didn't have a care in the world. A few moments later the trio heard an angry slam of a door. They all looked blankly at each other.

* * *

He didn't give a damn if his wand wasn't by his side- hopefully he'd get into a duel with a wizard and _lose_. He just didn't. care. anymore.

He didn't _want_ to be here. He just wanted to leave and be with his daughter again. Leaving this whole world was _so_ bloody tempting, but there was a tiny part of him that was still in denial. That part of him was convinced he was either in a dream, or that she was coming back.

But she wasn't…

The need for alcohol, in that moment, became larger to him. That sentence made his heart hurt and he needed something, _anything_ to take away the pain.

He became so desperate that he broke out into a run, panting. His mind briefly wandered over the fact that he hadn't changed out of his suit, but he didn't care enough to worry over a stupid suit. He just wanted his daughter back.

He couldn't go to the pub he was at last night, but that was fine. He'd only gone there because of convenience- it had been close to the cemetery. He contemplated apparating to Hogsmeade and going to The Three Broomsticks, but couldn't be bothered and that thought was quickly dispelled as he noticed a small pub a few metres away. He stopped running, wiping the sweat that had gathered at his hairline away and walked inside. He ordered a firewhiskey and swallowed it down, asking for refills.

"You're going to get drunk if you drink these quickly," The bartender warned with a slight grimace on his olive skin. Draco frowned at him.

"That's what I want. I've had a shitty day, so don't ask, just help me get drunk," replied Draco. The man behind the bar didn't need another word and refilled several glasses until seven were sitting in front of him. He walked on to serve someone else, but Draco had finished all seven drinks in ten minutes.

The burning sensation was still there, but he gladly let it distract him. _Anything_ to get the thoughts away. It wasn't much to ask, was it? To have your memory taken away?

He remembered that Granger was good in memory spells and buzzed around the idea of perhaps asking her, in confidence, if she would erase his memory like she had her parents. He only wanted the memories of his daughter's death gone though.

But then that would make him insane, he thought, frowning. He would have all of these memories of a gorgeous little girl, but he would never know where she went. If he wanted it to be effective, he'd need to remove _all_ memories of his daughter, and he didn't want that. He didn't want that at all.

His breath became unsteady and he felt the tears threatening to pour out of his eyes again. He breathed deeply, trying to push them back, but it took all of his mental strength, and some physical. When he finally blinked, and there were no blurs, he realised his nails had been cutting into the palm of his other hand. When he separated his hands, there were deep, red half-moon shapes. He swallowed. He needed more alcohol.

After thirteen more drinks, he was spent. There was no more pain, but the thoughts were still there. They were alright. The thoughts were bearable, but the pain was not. He staggered out of the pub and passed a large cloud of smoke and the husky laughter of other drunken men and took a few steps before swirling into the air.

He didn't know where he'd apparated to until he sank to his knees and the ground was cushiony and soft beneath his knees. He stared blankly at the grass. He didn't even know what was happening to himself. Was he even alive? Was it… normal to feel so much pain in your heart?

Every time he relived the memory, the alcohol wore off a little more. Every time he pictured her smile, his heart thumped- such a difference from her steady, unmoving heart.

The pain came back in small waves. His body physically began to ache and he raised his head, looking at her stone. It was pearly white, just like her skin.

He traced the letters of her name with his finger and swallowed, finding he couldn't breathe.

_Eloise Dion Malfoy _

A large lump had formed in his throat, so much that he couldn't even breathe without it hurting, and his eyes welled up with unshed, salty tears.

His lips trembled and he didn't know if it was from fear or if it was because he was finally about to cry. His heart hurt so badly and he wished it would all go away. There was not one emotion or word that described him at that moment. Only a group of words or a group of emotions would work.

Finally accepting that crying was a proper part of his grieving process, he let out a small sob as his first tear fell. His mouth was in a small, turned upside down smile and he leaned on her stone, relying on it to keep him upright.

"I miss you so much," He cried out, his voice breaking. More tears fell now, and they ticked his chin, but he ignored the feeling. His face became extremely wet and the feeling was uncomfortable, but even if he wanted to do something about it, he couldn't. His hand wouldn't move from her stone. He felt paralyzed.

"Why?" He sobbed. He didn't know what he was specifically asking. Why her? Why not me? Why now? Why? Just why?

Sprinkles of rain fell from the sky, almost as if the weather shared his pain. It was comforting- the small, cold droplets falling onto his neck, forehead and hair. As the raindrops weaved through the material of his suit, staining it a darker colour, the wind also picked up. It swirled around them in a comforting mixture of numb and cold.

That's what he was: numb and cold.

The rain fell heavier now, and so did his tears. He finally cried over her, but the feeling of guilt that washed over him was _nothing_ compared to the pain he'd felt from not crying. He regretted letting that first tear fall, because now, they wouldn't stop. It was almost as if his tears had accumulated over the years, and now he was letting every single one of them out. It was horrible, and he never wanted to feel like this again.

He shifted so that he was lying beside her, his left shoulder being propped up by the stone as he rested the back of his head against it. He whimpered and sobbed, his whole body shaking. His fingers twitched with the emotional, mental, and physical pain and he wondered how anyone in the world had ever survived grief.

How had they, in all honesty, done it? He couldn't take this. Couldn't take any of it- it was far too painful and he would rather die than feel this way.

Focusing back on the reason _why_ she was dead, he grew angry. It was unacceptable- you couldn't just _take _someone's innocent life in this world and get away with it. No. _NO. _Voldemort would pay. In blood.

His stomach felt like it was eating itself and then he realised that he hadn't ate. In fact, he couldn't remember his last meal. Eating just wasn't a priority right now, but the more he thought about it, the more he realised his last meal had been four days ago.

It got darker and he wondered if he should eventually wander home. He didn't want to, but he hadn't wanted to cry either and now that was happening.

His body was too stiff and sore to move; the effects of the alcohol wore off, what seemed to him, almost instantaneously and his body felt so heavy, like he was too weak to even move an arm, or a finger.

He didn't even know why he was thinking about himself right now. He should only be thinking about her, as much as it hurt him to do so. He felt guilty for even spending a second thinking of himself or anyone else. No, his thoughts should constantly be on her. It wasn't fair if he thought of himself. He didn't care about himself anymore anyways- so why spare a thought? He was worthless. Not even worth his own time.

"Don't worry precious," He said sleepily, blinking. "We'll get him back,"

His tears continued to fall, but his body was physically exhausted. He was glad his body finally caught some sense and was letting him collapse. He knew people weren't supposed to experience this kind of pain. He didn't try to block anything out anymore- he let it all come to him at once. The memories, the pain, the heartache, the thoughts, the denial, the depression, the loneliness… It all came at once, and it was so painful, he eventually rested his head on her stone and his eyes closed over. A few moments later, his whole body grew limp, but funnily enough, the tears still came.

The sky grew even darker and the cold wind still swirled around them, picking up leaves and discarded litter as it went. A fog seemed to drop from the clouds, creating a spooky grey mist around them. The rain still fell, drenching his suit and creating light grey spots on her stone. The same light grey that her name was written in.

* * *

"Ron misses you too," Hermione said in a quiet voice to the small grey stone. "He just doesn't want to come here. Don't think he wants to admit it to himself yet,"

She tugged her coat around her tighter. The wind and rain was certainly picking up, and a mist had gathered just above her head. It most definitely was autumn now. Her teeth chattered as she took in a shaky breath, frowning.

"I think I might have to leave our reunion for another day, Fred, the weather is really going mad," She apologised, looking up at the quickly darkening sky. She smiled sadly after a few minutes.

"Even though you're not here anymore, you still have the ability to make people happy. You're extraordinary," She added, before kissing her index and middle finger and patting it onto the top of his stone. She got up from her knees, wiping away some imaginary dirt and then walked away, hugging her coat around her small frame. The coldness seemed to penetrate her winter jacket and she 'hmmed' impatiently. She would need to put another heating charm on her jacket, but she couldn't right now. Getting her wand out would mean potentially exposing her bare skin to the coldness and she did _not_ want that.

Getting her wand out became unavoidable though, after she saw a slumped figure against a white stone. It was most definitely male and she needed protection, so she had no other choice. She tried to look nonchalant as she walked past, not looking for any trouble, but as she came closer, she noticed a rather striking colour of hair, and that colour of hair only belonged to one family.

"Malfoy?" She whispered quietly to herself in a questioning tone, moving closer. As she neared him, it became clearer to her that he was asleep, but she could not just leave him here. The wind was getting worse and the rain would most likely give him hypothermia. She tried to wake him up before a name on the headstone caught her attention and she traced the name softly.

"Eloise," She whispered to herself again. She looked at Malfoy before reading what was underneath the headstone. All that it revealed was her birthdate, death date, and a small note that said 'beloved and irreplaceable daughter, granddaughter and niece.'

She didn't know Malfoy had any siblings… It occurred to her, ironically enough, the minute she thought that, that perhaps he meant his close friends. She'd grown up calling her father's best friend her uncle, and so it made sense.

But if Malfoy wasn't a grandfather, or an uncle, then what was he?

Was he a father?

* * *

I hope you enjoyed this chapter.

Gah. Poor Draco. I hope, if you read it, that you didn't mind my small rant up there. I'm feeling a little better now and I'm going to eat Halloween sweets (I'm fairly into my teenage years and my mother still buys me sweets on halloween... do your parents do the same?) and read a book. If anyone wants specifics, I'll be reading **The Hidden **by **Jessica Verday ;) **I highly recommend the books. They are fantaaaaaaastic!

Happy Halloween you guys! And also R.I.P James and Lily Potter. This is the day that Harry's story began... crazy!

-FallenForTheDraco


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